Step by Step
by Elie.N.P
Summary: George licked one of Hermione's tears away. She buried her face in his collar. She was definitely too emotional to think clearly albeit there was no doubt to have. Fred would have agreed, he'd have given them his blessing.
1. Chapter 1

**This short story will be about Hermione and George. It takes place after the war, after Fred's death so there may be some angst.**

**I've never been a great fan of them but I wanted to give them a chance. Hope you won't be bothered too much by some OOC-ness.  
**

**Have a good read!**

**ElieNP**

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**Step by Step**

**Chapter 1**

Her hold around the handle was as tight as she could bear the material to hurt her skin. Despite the pain she wouldn't let go of the damned object. To let go of it'd mean to let go of him. If she didn't open that door, nobody would do it before a long time, a too long time to be certain he'd still be able to return among them normally. If nobody dared enter that room, then he'd stay alone. Lonely and alone, there was no way she'd allow such a thing to last any longer!

She was slightly shaking. She should have walked with him inside the first time, she should have ignored his words, his hurtful moves and followed him even though it'd have been against his will.

They all acknowledged his right to reject them, wouldn't they do the same if the roles were to be swapped? Of course they would, they'd wish to be left alone to mourn their other half.

She didn't suspect her hold could tighten more around the doorknob, but it did.

They'd left him mourn alone for three weeks already, three damned whole weeks during which he'd only accepted to eat a few bits of the loads of food they carried in front of his door. In front of, never inside, he'd not allow anyone to see his face, not even his hand. Their room had become his den, no other presence was wished inside. Enough was enough. If three weeks felt like an eternity to them, how did they feel to him? Alone and lonely. She gritted her teeth, they shouldn't have waited for so long.

She took a deep breath. She had to be brave. She could feel strength running through her veins. Each one of them had tried – and failed – to bring him back. It was her turn, she had to be successful. She would, for his sake.

She determinedly pushed on the handle.

The door slowly slid open. Her heart missed a beat when she saw the state the room was in. The shutters were closed, the curtains drawn, thus increasing the already thick darkness. Dark, smelly and stuffy, it almost made her retch. Truth be told, she couldn't have expected anything else. The window had certainly not been opened for the last three weeks after all. She'd never forget to air a single room of where she'd be living from now on.

She shook those useless thoughts away. It still startled her how her mind would think about such meaningless things at random since the end of the war. An instinct of preservation the medics had told her, a reflex she'd rather do without if you asked her.

She squinted her eyes, not spotting him right away because he was hiding. Alone, lonely and hiding under his covers. She figured out his curled up form under sheets she couldn't distinguish the colours of.

A little child tormented by terrifying nightmares, her heart clenched in her chest. She didn't have to wonder about which monsters had been plaguing him mercilessly. Her nights had been visited by them too. The nights of all the Burrow inhabitants had been and still were from time to time.

She took a step forwards, hesitantly moving further into his personal space. Now that she'd entered his den, she couldn't flee any more. All hope wasn't lost yet, but would if her feet betrayed her, if she walked away from his trembling form. There was nobody left to give it a try. Failure, again and again, until she hadn't been able to run away from this task, this mission, any longer. It was her turn to face the truth of his situation, her turn to face his tormented self.

His sentence was real. He was condemned to move on alone, condemned to be a reminder of who had been lost, of who would, from now on, always be missing.

She took another step in his direction. As much as she wanted to turn back on her heels she wouldn't allow that to happen. She'd been a coward long enough. She had to be strong for him. Nobody could blame him, and he was certainly the one who suffered the most. How could he bear to be... to be himself? She bit her lower lip. She shouldn't be thinking that way. It wasn't his fault, yet she dreaded to draw the covers from his body. She dreaded to see him, to see past him. When her eyes would set on him she knew she'd become a mess again. She'd cry, and it'd not help him at all. But what could she do? They looked exactly the same, they were perfectly alike. Twins from head to toes, twins for Merlin's beard! One gone the other remaining, alone. He was a nightmare himself, a constant reminder of who was missing... She shook her head, she was losing it again, her goal. She had to take him out of here. She had to. She would do so. She'd bring him back among them. He belonged with them, not with a ghost.

She held back a sob.

One after the other they'd all tried to lead him out of that bedroom which had become a prison. It might be pretentious of her to think she'd succeed but she had to be confident. She had to succeed. She had to lead him out, to force, to deceive him even, out of those cursed walls. She wasn't naïve to the point of thinking she'd free him of his demons, not so soon, it was impossible. She'd lived through war, through torture, through the death of people she loved. If she'd been able to overcome these trials, he would too. He only needed time and they'd give him as much as he wished, as long as he allowed them to remain by his side.

He wasn't brooding, he was mourning. She was very well aware of that, and again of his need for time, of his desire to be left in peace, but they couldn't bear to witness his downfall any longer. It was her duty to put an end to his self-imposed loneliness.

"George?" she croaked while slowly pushing the sheets away.

He didn't raise his head. His shoulders tensed. At least he'd heard her, that was a good start. He hadn't totally distanced himself from the real world, not yet.

"George, we miss you."

There was no point in telling him time would weaken his grief, even though it wasn't entirely wrong it wouldn't do any good here. Besides, it was impossible to tell how long it'd take before it happened. There was no point in telling him they were all suffering from the same loss. He knew it. There was no point actually in telling him anything but she nevertheless had to try. She couldn't bear to take part in the silence which had been surrounded him for three weeks. Plus she might say something which would trigger a positive reaction – or negative she didn't really care - all she wanted was for him to react, to prove he was still alive and not an empty and broken shell. He had to stop surviving to start living again.

"We're all waiting for you."

Her voice was barely audible. It was hard to win over the thick silence. She feared she might disturb the eerie atmosphere which was reigning in the room. She was angry with herself. Why was she such a coward? She felt cold, her throat was dry and she wanted to cry. She hated that atmosphere, she craved to break it and yet it remained the strongest. She was miserable in this room, certainly close to the way he was feeling too.

She collapsed on the floor beside his bed. Her hand reached out to clutch his. His anguish and sorrow had suddenly taken over her determination. She had no bravery left in her.

She could stop fighting to stay there with him. They could share their sorrow, they could drown into misery together. It was the easiest solution, the most attracting one.

She forcefully shook her head. That was not a solution at all! The worst of all even! She knelt to be face-to-face with him. Firmly she titled his head up to meet his eyes – she was surprised to they were open, swollen and red too it was inevitable.

"We need you George. We need you to be with us. We don't ask you to stop mourning. We don't ask you to be happy, that'd be stupid. I know you can't, not now. I know you're suffering. I know you think you'll never see the end of this awful pain. But all we want is for you to be with us because you shouldn't suffer alone. You have us. You have to understand you still have us."

Her voice had become shaky and quite frantic, as messy as she felt.

Behind the door which had closed back on her – as if to give them some privacy – her friends had to restrain themselves from going in to protect her from her own feelings. Albeit her demons were threatening to come back they should really not go in, they feared they might screw everything up if they rushed in before George had showed the smallest sign of going out of his lethargy.

George only stared at her blankly. She slapped him before harshly pulling him out of bed. Instead of opposing her some resistance, he followed the moves she imposed him, like a puppet devoid of all will. She hadn't suspected she had such strength in her, yet it wasn't the time to ponder about the wonders anger could do. She slammed his back against the wall, right beside the door she'd definitely make him go through.

"I know you're still there, I know you're conscious, enough to hear me, enough to speak... So speak damn it! We need you! He, more than anyone else, would want you to go out of this room. He'd want you to live, not to survive."

Something changed in his eyes. It was small, a mere piece of dust, but it was there. It'd finally started to appear, this reaction she wished to arouse.

"He is dead." His voice was hoarse. It sounded as if it straightly came from another realm, somewhere far away from them, somewhere they'd have to prevent him from going back to.

His first words in three weeks were astonishingly painful to hear. Shivering, she gently caressed his cheek. "Yes," was all she was able to say. He closed his eyes to her gentle touch. "It's hard," she finally succeeded in pronouncing, "for all of us. It's hard and we won't lie to you, it'll take some time before it stops being that hard. But we... we can't change the past but we-" her voice died in her throat.

Tears were blinding her. It was so difficult to tell him these words, they seemed so cruel. She wished she wasn't the one to say them.

"He is dead," George repeated as hoarsely as the first time. "He is dead, Hermione."

The way her name rolled on his tongue broke her heart. It was a call for help, a S.O.S.. She couldn't hold back her sobs any longer.

"I swear," she said while tears were flooding her face, "I swear I'd have given anything not to let that happen. I'd have done anything I could. I swear... if only I could change the past, I'd do... I'd do anything to protect you, to erase that suffering of yours but I... I... so useless! I couldn't do anything and I still can't do anything... I am... I am so sorry..."

His forehead came to rest against hers. His skin was as cold as ice.

"He knew it'd happen," his voice broke.

It was certainly the most painful thing, to know he had willingly condemned himself to save them. He'd willingly given up his own life to allow them to win.

His sacrifice hadn't been an accident.

"He was perfectly aware of what he was doing that stupid-" he couldn't finish his sentence.

They both slid to the floor. Hermione cradled George's head to her chest, allowing his own tears to soak her shirt.

"We're there," she murmured softly, all anger having left her as quickly as it came. "We're all there for you."

His sobs could be heard from the other side of the door. Their friends sighed in slight relief. George was back among them, and Hermione had successfully calmed down without their help. They'd definitely make it through the mess their life had become. It was a certainty.

They couldn't tell how long they waited before Harry finally approached his mouth to the wooden panel.

"Hermione?" he softly called. "Hermione, is everything all right inside?"

"Can you come in to get him?" she replied as softly. "He's fallen asleep."

Another relieved sigh escaped Harry's lips. He was glad everything seemed to turn in their favour, at last. He slowly opened the door revealing a sleeping George cuddled in Hermione's lap. Would it have happened in other circumstances it'd have been a nice sight to remember.

"I'll take him to Ron's room."

Hermione nodded. Every place would be better than this one where nightmares would continuously plague him. Actually they all would be plagued by horrible nightmares in this room, the most insignificant thing in it was related to him. Hermione carefully got up. Her limbs were stiff to have supported his weight, fortunately Ron was there to keep her from staggering too much.

"I'll take her to our room."

Hermione smiled at her female ginger-haired friend. Ginny's room had progressively become theirs. It still amazed Hermione that the younger girl had never complained about it. She'd not even protested when Hermione's belongings had been moved in. It was true Hermione didn't possess much and had never openly displayed the few things she had, keeping them inside malls or the closet brought in for her use. Even though the older witch called the room theirs she'd never stopped considering it Giny's room. Their sharing it was only temporary. It'd last... actually they didn't know how long it would last. It wasn't bothering either of them really. In such circumstances they were both glad to have somebody to share their room at night. It was reassuring to know somebody was close enough to chase the other's nightmares away. Ginny would often be the one crawling under the older witch's covers to fight her night frights.

Hermione watched Harry and Ron disappear with George before following her friend.

"What do you think?"

A shaky sigh escaped Hermione's lips. "He is a mess, but that's only logical. At least he isn't delusional, he... well to say he accepts isn't right but... let's say he is aware of what happened and why it happened. He blames himself, he didn't say it but I'm certain he does, after all we all do, don't we?"

Ginny nodded. Each one of them believed they could have done something although it was useless to bear such thoughts now. Their tragedy was a reality. Fred was dead and couldn't be brought back from the dead. Magic could do nothing for them either. Fred had given up his life to offer them victory. He'd given them the time they needed to deceive and defeat their enemy. The fool! They were certain they'd have managed without his sacrifice but that was also a useless debate which only poured oil on an already ferocious fire.

Fred was dead, forever. He'd deprived them of his presence for the rest of their life. What a cruel fool he'd dared be.

"He'll make it, won't he?"

"You want to share my bed for tonight?" Hermione asked before answering the quivering question. "Of course he'll make it, but I don't know how long it'll take."

Ginny climbed up in bed with the young woman she considered her sister.

"You'll stay no matter how long it takes, won't you?"

Hermione switched off the lights. "I promise I will. You are my family Ginny, I won't let you down."

Ginny cuddled up closer to Hermione who slightly laughed at that move so similar to the way George'd acted. There was no doubt they were brother and sister. She gently kissed Ginny's forehead, already knowing she'd sneak out of bed as soon as she'd be certain the younger girl was sound asleep.

It didn't take long before Hermione was climbing down the stairs. She couldn't sleep. She hadn't been sleeping well since that day and would spend some time in the kitchen, or in the living-room, almost every night before feeling exhausted enough to go back to bed to get some rest.

Tonight was different though, she felt more nervous to know George was finally out of his den. He wasn't even aware of that yet. He'd been deceived out of his room after all, it'd only be fair if he were furious. They wouldn't have any right to scold him for that.

Hermione collapsed on the first chair she saw. She'd been the main actor of this scheme. She buried her head between her arms, muffling a whine. George was a broken man. He'd lost his other half, his best friend. His brother meant the world to him, without him his life probably seemed dull and meaningless. Wrong, of course, but how could they lead him to accept his life was still worth living it in spite of the tragic absence which would forever burden it?

George had to learn to live a different life, one he'd have never wanted to experience. The missing piece of his heart would never be replaced.

She growled into the sleeves of her pyjamas. Frustration was overwhelming her once more, after it'd be anger, then sorrow. She'd gone through this cycle numerous times since Fred had left them. It was a vicious circle she couldn't find the exit of. She was trapped by her own feelings.

"He's still sleeping. No nightmare until now."

Hermione jumped, she hadn't heard her friend approaching. "That's a relief but how long will it last?"

"I do admit I've cheated a bit with a spell."

She furrowed her brows at Harry while he sat across from her.

"He may be even more furious when he wakes up!" she scolded.

Harry nodded. "I know but he didn't look like he had much sleep, much less a peaceful one in ages. At least now we can hope his body will recover enough not to burden his moral exhaustion, which is strong enough as it is that's it."

Hermione sighed. Of course he was right. Of course to free George of one of the many burdens he carried was a chance they couldn't afford to miss.

"When will it be all over?"

Harry frowned, he wasn't used to hearing Hermione whine. She had to be overly exhausted.

"You should go to get some rest too. You won't be of any help if your eyes shut on their own."

Hermione got up, growling because of the strong frustration which was still running through her veins.

"You're right, with a spell I may be able to..." she sighed. "Who am I kidding? Even with a spell it'll be hard to grab some rest."

"You want me to help you? I could cast the spell for you."

She smiled at her friend. "No thank you, I'll manage. I hope," she added in a breath.

She didn't leave the kitchen before having hugged the young man. She'd been so scared of losing him during the war. If he'd died she'd probably be in the same state as George right now, a wreck. Though it was true George didn't have the monopoly of sorrow he was definitely the one having the most severe difficulties to deal with the aftermath. All Fred's loved ones, friends and acquaintances were touched, at different levels admittedly. His family was the most afflicted, a family to which Harry and Hermione unofficially belonged.

"We'll manage through this," Harry gently murmured. "We'll make it for him."

"Yes, I believe in us... even if it's hard."

"That's the spirit."

They both jumped. Ginny was standing in the threshold. "Now Hermione your bed is missing you."

As often Ginny had finally acknowledged Hermione's absence and had gone to bring her back. She hadn't had a full night of sleep since Fred's death either.

Hermione offered her a sheepish smile. "Sorry I couldn't stay still."

"No problem, but the rings under your eyes tell me you must rest before they eat all your face."

Harry let out a small laugh. Hermione's smile grew a bit bigger. They were all used to having this kind of exchange.

"You coming?"

Hermione walked towards her friend. "Goodnight Harry," she said above her shoulder.

"Goodnight guys," he replied warmly.

The stairs were harder to climb up than when she'd first gone downstairs. That short trip to the kitchen had exhausted her enough to finally make her bed look attractive. She crawled under her covers and Ginny quickly imitated her. They both closed their eyes as soon as their head touched the pillows, thanks to exhaustion and, above all, Hermione's calming spell.

"Get out of here! George! Get out!"

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**I have it all written so it'll be published it all at once.**

**Have a good read!**

**ElieNP**

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**Chapter 2**

Hermione was jerked out of sleep by Ron's screams. The mention of George's name made her body react on instinct. In less than a second she was rushing to the source of such a worrying noise, Ginny stuck to her heels.

"What's happening?"

Hermione glanced above her shoulder. "No idea, but Ron sounds more upset than anything else."

They soon reached the screaming red-haired man whose fists were loudly pounding against the bathroom door.

"What's going on here?"

Ron abruptly turned to them. "George's locked himself up inside. We let him go because," his cheeks reddened, "well he looked like he really needed to use the bathroom. How could we know he was going to stay inside?" He turned back to the door, violently punching the wood.

"For Merlin's sake! Go out!"

Hermione walked closer. "Have you tried not to be so aggressive?"

Ron raised an eyebrow at her. Harry sighed and Ginny rolled her eyes. It didn't surprise her that her brother had followed his feelings – irritation and fear – without thinking twice about the situation.

"Let me try." Ginny moved in front of him to call – gently - her other older brother. "George, can you open the door? We're all worried here."

Silence answered her.

"George? Please Hermione looks so pale right now, I'm afraid she's going to pass out."

Hermione frowned. Even though Ginny wasn't shouting, her method was as aggressive – in a different way – as Ron's previous one.

Some steps were taken inside the room. At last they were getting a reaction. Ginny winked at her friends and sibling, proud of her idea. They waited for his face to appear at any time now yet no more steps were heard.

Ron raised his thumb up in utter mockery. Ginny shrugged it off. She got closer to the door and, all of a sudden, collapsed on the floor.

"My gosh Hermione!" she cried. "Are you all right?" The aforementioned woman was about to protest when the door jerked open. George was among them in the wink of an eye.

Harry immediately moved between him and the enter of the room, blocking all way of retreat to his newly-found den. They weren't out of the woods yet if they had to forbid him to go in all the lockable rooms of the Burrow! However it was obvious they couldn't leave him alone.

Soon enough George realised he'd been tricked. It wasn't Hermione but his very own sister who was sprawled on the floor, a satisfied smile on her face whereas a big frown was marring Hermione's. He instantaneously deduced the latter was innocent in this scheme, his sister being its real mastermind. He furrowed his brows, turned back on his heels – thus coming face-to-face with the scarred young man - headed to his left to be blocked by his brother and understood it was no use to try the way on his right for Hermione was standing in the middle of the corridor.

Surrounded.

Trapped.

He gritted his teeth. He didn't want to fight them now, he didn't have the strength to do so.

"George," Hermione softly called to catch his attention. She waited for his eyes to meet hers before saying more. "Why don't you come to have breakfast with us?"

His features softened, however Hermione knew better than to think they'd won already.

"Only the five of us, it'll be calm."

She'd intentionally made an allusion to the absence of the rest of his family so as to reassure him. He'd not be engulfed by their questions, gentle attentions, hugs. He'd be allowed to silently sit on a chair, peacefully – and as slowly as he wanted – eating his breakfast in their company. That was all they wanted, to be allowed to stay by his side.

They were still waiting for his answer when Ginny's stomach suddenly growled.

She sheepishly scratched the back of her head. "Sounds like I'm a bit hungry."

All tension left George's face for a second. Ginny didn't waste any time. She jumped on her feet, grabbed her brother by the sleeve of his shirt and hurried in the direction of the kitchen before he could become withdrawn again. The others didn't waste any time to follow her either.

It was fortunate they'd been left alone that early in the morning. If George had woken up half an hour earlier he'd have had to face his mother, then things might not have run smoothly. Hermione bit her lower lip, she shouldn't be thinking that way but couldn't help it. It was obvious they couldn't allow George's and his mother's sorrows to meet right now. Her attention would be too heavy for him to bear.

They made him sit between the young women while Ron and Harry took the responsibility for covering up the table with all the food they were able to find. They counted on that task to calm Ron's nerves. Surprisingly the girls were a lot more in control than they'd have thought they'd be after George's return.

Actually Ginny would have thrown herself at him if Hermione hadn't been there to discreetly hold her back. They were lucky she'd had that reflex because Ginny might have scared her brother with a too sudden demonstration of affection. They had to be very careful about their behaviours. In such a state anything could scare George off.

"Coffee?"

Hermione shook her head as well as Ginny. George simply kept staring at the table blankly.

"George?" Hermione tried to catch his attention. "What would you like to drink?"

He didn't move, Hermione doubted he'd even heard her. She was about to repeat herself but bit back her words at the last moment. They all had to be patient with him. She could perfectly wait for several minutes to have an answer, it wouldn't do her any harm.

The strategy didn't need to be shared. Ron poured five cups of coffee as well as three of milk and five glasses of orange juice. He also brought all the carafes to the table so as to give them the possibility to choose. George would thus be able to take all the time he needed to make a choice, if he ever made one.

"How long?"

Ron nearly dropped the plate he had in hands. Harry chocked on his coffee whereas Hermione's spoon froze mid-way to her mouth and Ginny's bread sank into the marmalade. They all expected his tone to be sorrowful but definitely not that emotionless. It made their blood run cold.

They didn't know how to properly answer his question. What was he talking about exactly? How long had he been in the room? Or how long would it take before his pain lessen?

Hermione tentatively covered his hand with hers. "How long what?" she murmured.

They all held back their breath. Hermione was doing her best not to betray her tension through the skin-to-skin contact. George's eyes were intensively fixed on their hands. Shaking, he shifted them so as to hold Hermione's smaller one in his.

"How long before I stop feeling dead myself?"

Tears blurred her vision. Ginny quickly wiped hers away.

"How long before I accept his..." his voice trailed off.

Hermione's second hand clenched into a fist. She bit the inside of her cheeks not to sob. How long would it take for him, for them all, to accept Fred's death? The sobs won over her determination not to cry. She embraced George on impulse, cradling his head to her chest such as she did the night before. She soon felt her shirt being soaked by tears which weren't hers. George's body didn't feel as strong as it should against her smaller one. He hadn't been taking care of himself.

Ginny stopped trying to hide her sorrow, allowing her tears to freely flow on her cheeks too. Ron walked out of the room, Harry went after him. None of them had totally accepted Fred's death yet. They'd all had severe breakdowns over the last three weeks. Albeit they'd overcome them, their nerves were far from being at ease. Ginny joined her brother and Hermione in their sorrowful embrace. When Harry and Ron appeared again they also went to strengthen the human bundle formed in the middle of the kitchen.

They remained thus for a long time. As painful as the reason of their hug was, such a contact was lessening the weight burdening their shoulders.

George's eyes were closed. He was finally accepting he wasn't the only one trying to overcome this terrible trial. He wasn't alone, not in the least. They might not share the same pain for they all felt a different one, at different levels, but they were suffering too. They acknowledged his pain and would never force a smile out of him as long as he wasn't ready. They'd be respectful of his desires. He should have understood that earlier. His family and friends would take care of him without ever blaming him for not being able to do it himself. George let himself be lulled to sleep by the warmth of the people who loved him.

When he woke up, George immediately recognized his little brother's decoration. He slowly sat down under the warm sheets. He was alone but the door was open. He was certain it couldn't be closed without forcing it with magic - a strong one. It didn't bother him. He took it as it was, an evidence of how much they cared for him.

Though he carefully moved to the edge of the bed, his body violently protested. His limbs were stiff, they hadn't been fed with any energy for too long. To sleep didn't do everything, on the contrary it had worsened the state of his muscles which were craving for some physical stimulation. He glanced at the window. He might have slept the whole day, the sky was obviously going dark. The sun had already given up its place to the moon. He wondered what the others had done while waiting for him to wake up.

His heels had barely touched the floor than Ron was already walking through the threshold.

"Hello sleepy head! Just in time to eat dinner."

Ron's smile was contagious, soon it was reflected by a twitch of George's lips. It wasn't much but enough to warm Ron's heart. They'd been fearing George might forbid himself to feel anything else than sorrow. It was relieving to be proven wrong.

"You coming?"

George slowly nodded, he was afraid any abrupt move would make his head spin. "Need to use the bathroom," he croaked.

Ron helped him up. He laughed a bit. "You're not that smelly yet, but going to the bathroom is a good idea. I'm sorry though you won't be given complete privacy."

He waited for any sign of protest from his brother then, relieved to get none, led him to the shower.

Everything was going well, too well actually to allow Ron to feel at ease. He had been expecting to meet more difficulties while dealing with his brother's pain. First of all he'd expected to have difficulties to straightly look at him. George was, after all, Fred's identical picture. To see one of them was the same as to see the other. Surprisingly it wasn't that hard to face him. If the twins looked alike, they weren't exactly identical. George was George, had always been George and would always be George only.

Ron felt relieved not to be disturbed by the twins' resemblance. He hoped the others would be able to react the same way. It'd be much easier for everyone.

He sat on the floor while George disappeared behind the shower curtain. They weren't speaking, neither were they expecting a word to come out of their companion's mouth, to be in one another's presence was enough to satisfy them.

George remained under the hot water for ten long minutes. Ron's mouth stretched out in a small smile. His older brother certainly did spend as much time in the shower as their sister. Was it that fun to change the room into a sauna?

"You're worse than Ginny," he couldn't restrain himself from chuckling.

The curtain was suddenly drawn open, revealing a frowning George.

Ron's smile didn't falter as he considered his brother's expression as a sign of an active emotional life. An improvement he was proud to be the source of.

He gave his big brother a mischievous wink. George's frown disappeared instantaneously. He'd never stay upset with Ron longer than necessary any more. Family mattered too much to be hindered by stupid vexations. Yes, everything was going well for his return among the ones who loved him. That was until George caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Ron quickly guessed something was wrong in the way his brother was now engulfed in an intense observation of himself. He couldn't see his face, but the way George's body was now tensed said it all.

There was a major problem they hadn't thought about. If Ron, Harry, Ginny and Hermione didn't see Fred through George, George certainly did see his twin in himself.

Ron's hands started to sweat in apprehension. He'd not foreseen that coming at all.

"George? I think dinner is ready, we should go. You're all clean now, aren't you?" His joking tone obtained no reaction from the older man.

"George?" His brother was trembling rather violently. "George you know it'll only be the five of us downstairs, you don't need to worry about Mum or anybody else."

Ron was at a loss for ideas. He wanted to call the others but how could he manage it without leaving his brother alone? He couldn't leave him alone! But he doubted his voice would be loud enough to be heard from the kitchen.

If the edges of the washbasin hadn't been of a solid material they'd have already broken under George's grip.

"Harry!" Ron finally shouted. "Harry! Ginny! Hermione! Someone! Someone comes!"

He hesitantly joined his brother beside the washbasin. "George?"

The slap came so fast that Ron didn't have the smallest chance to avoid it. George was now facing him, rage obvious in his eyes. Rage and sorrow. Rage and frustration. George was loathing himself.

What was Ron supposed to do? Alone he had no idea. Panic was threatening to overwhelm him. He found his feet stuck to the floor. His legs were frozen so as to make him unable to move when his brother violently grabbed his shirt and pinned him to the nearest wall.

Ron's voice failed him. He couldn't even call for help. Would he get through this mess alive?

"George?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is the end of this short story.**

**Hope you've enjoyed it and will like the last "chapter".**

**ElieNP**

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**Chapter 3**

Ron's bottom painfully hit the soaked floor. Either Hermione had heard his calls or had been worried not to see him coming back, he couldn't care less, for all that mattered was her presence and her voice which had freed him of his brother's hold.

She quickly walked to George.

"Ron are you all right?" Ginny knelt by his side. "You're not hurt, are you?"

He forcefully shook his head. The last thing they needed was for George to feel guilty, more guilty than he already felt.

"I... I..." George stammered. He took his head between his hands. "I... I..."

Hermione didn't think twice before pulling him to her. Her hug was tight, her words soothing. She waved her friends out of the stuffy room – the hot water didn't help the situation. Silently they both slid to the floor. Hermione had a strong impression of déjà-vu. Three times already she'd had George's head to her chest, her clothes soaked by his sorrow and hers soon joining in.

"I... I..."

"You don't need to say anything," she reassured him. They all knew what had happened, and were at a loss for solutions.

"It's unbearable... unbearable really... I can't do that Hermione... I can't... not without him... I can't..."

She'd have slapped him if their position had allowed the move. It wasn't the right thing to do, but it'd have relieved her a bit.

"Of course you can do it, we'll do it together. It'll be hard, that's a given, but we will do it." She tightened her hold on him. "We'll do it."

George buried his head further into her clothes. "We'll do it," he repeated weakly. Would they really? Were they strong enough? His family and friends were, what about him? Could he live without Fred? Could he live without his other half by his side?

"Fred will always be with you," Hermione murmured as if she'd been reading his thoughts. "It sounds cliché but I am certain it's true. Fred will always live in your heart, in our hearts. He'll never disappear into oblivion. You have to show him he hasn't sacrificed himself for nothing."

She gently kissed his forehead. "Fred will always be with us. He'll always be by your side that's why you'll be able to go on." He embraced her waist. "You'll go on George, I'll be by your side as long as you wish. As long as you need me I'll be there, as will be everybody who loves you. You're not alone George, never forget that. You may feel lonely but you'll never be alone so don't close your heart to us. Don't keep us away from you."

He tightened his hold on her. He wouldn't let go of her, never. "I hurt so much, it's so... so painful... so... I... it's so..." Sobs cut him off.

"I know," Hermione whispered, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. "And I'm so sorry I can't do any thing to help."

George wouldn't contradict her. It was the truth. Hermione couldn't do nothing to chase his pain away, nor could anybody else. But she was there, firmly hugging him. She was allowing him to hold onto her, to hurt her because of his tight grip. His nails were piercing her skin through the material of her clothes.

He suddenly realised that, once more, they were silently hugging. It seemed to be the most efficient way for them to share their sorrow. Why could he only find solace in Hermione's arms? He knew the reason, they both perfectly knew it, wasn't it time to speak about it? Would ever be a time to speak about it?

Hermione glanced at the door. The others were all gone. Nobody would hear them. They could discuss in all secrecy. However they didn't utter a word. The sound of their respective breathing seemed already too loud for their ears to bear. Hermione was certain the flight of a fly could provoke a breakdown.

George slowly pushed himself off Hermione's lap. Her eyes were fixed on him, she was waiting for his next moves which would say much more about his state than any words. He reached a hand out to her. She didn't hesitate to firmly – yet gently – take it. She'd show no hesitation concerning him. She'd be a rock he could rely on without fear.

George nodded as if she'd just given him some kind of answer. Hermione almost raised an eyebrow at him. Had she failed to hear a question of his? Had his eyes been interrogative? She couldn't remember. She scolded herself not to have paid attention enough.

He carefully got up, she instantaneously imitated him. His eyes bore into hers. Was she agreeing with his plan? Which plan? What was he asking her? What did all that mean? Understanding finally dawned on her, so she nodded. His features softened a bit.

Hermione knew what she'd just agreed to speak about, however it didn't prevent her from feeling lost. Was it really the right time for these words? She pondered about it for several seconds then, as they walked out of the bathroom, decided to stop bothering. If George was all right with that, then nothing else mattered.

George's steps led them to his room. Hermione tensed. She really didn't like this room and was certain George shouldn't in it again. He felt her tension as clearly as if he was reading an open book. His fingers gently caressed the centre of her palm. She squeezed his hand. Her eyes were pleading when she raised them to him. He immediately turned on his heels, so quickly that Hermione almost missed the relief in his eyes. She glanced one last time at the door of the twins' room. She doubted anybody would willingly occupy it before a very long time.

They went downstairs, hand-in-hand, then passed the threshold of the Burrow.

Since Fred's death the weather seemed to have been matching their mood. As a cold wind suddenly engulfed them Hermione thought it was still reflecting their feelings. Rainy and windy, dark, too, because the night had already extended its wings over the place. The eerie atmosphere wasn't quite encouraging a nice stroll. They walked forwards nevertheless.

Shivers coursed down their bodies. Stormy weather, mourning mood, eerie atmosphere, why weren't they tuck up under several comfortable covers? Warm and safe inside the Burrow, their home.

George led them far away from the house, under the shelter of several hundred-year-old trees. He sat down first, slightly pulling on her hand to make her follow him. Hermione sat cross-legged as close to him as she could without climbing up in his lap.

She was doing her best not to let her teeth chatter. Worse than cold, she was frozen! Of course their wands were peacefully bathing into the warmth of the Burrow.

George shifted to welcome Hermione between his arms. She leant into his chest, all shyness forgotten.

What were they doing sitting down in the damp grass at the beginning of a so cold evening? Hermione frowned. Could they have been cursed? She closed her eyes. That was stupid, they hadn't been victim of any kind of spell except for the one their own pain had cast on them.

"It was the sole place he never came with me," George confessed out-of-the-blue.

"Why?"

Hermione didn't really want to speak, but her curiosity was too strong to allow her to keep silent. He tightened his hold around her.

"We both had decided to choose a place that we'd always keep for ourselves, for ourselves only. Fred had chosen a tree somewhere," he pointed out to the south, "over there. He never went here and would never go to his tree, I'll never climb it up," he trailed off.

He was obviously holding back his sobs. Hermione didn't dare hurry him to speak. She'd respect his need for time. It took him some minutes to regain his calm.

"It was our way to keep our individuality. It was natural and important to us to be together, we... we needed one another." His voice almost broke at the use of the past. "But we also needed to be alone from time to time."

Hermione nodded. It was perfectly understandable. She gently squeezed his hand when she felt him start shaking.

"Who has already come here?"

George sighed. "No one."

"No one?"

"Yes, no one. I didn't feel the need for someone to accompany me."

"Why have you let me go with you?" she murmured.

He averted his eyes. She'd wait for him to be ready. He was fragile, and so was she. Patience was their ally, as difficult as it was to gather it up.

Hermione leant her forehead against his. Actually, she didn't need him to explain why she was here. They'd broached the subject once, when they'd noticed the changes were getting more important, when they'd realised these changes could be dangerous at such a time. The beginning of a war wasn't exactly the perfect time to start a love affair.

When they'd talked about it, they'd both agreed to push their feelings aside, they'd take care of their feelings later, at a safer moment. Safer didn't mean happier. They were presently at a loss of how they should act.

Hermione closed her eyes to make George more at ease. If she didn't look at him he'd be able to look at her.

"Do you wish to forget it?" Worry was obvious in his voice.

Hermione slid her arms around his neck. She wished her warmth would reassure him, she didn't trust her voice to be steady.

"Hermione?" he pleaded.

She shifted closer to him. George shyly kissed the skin of her neck. She pleasingly shivered.

They'd only kissed a few times before giving up the love affair idea. Innocent kisses which they could imagine to mean nothing serious. Hermione hadn't suspected she'd miss the contact of his lips so much.

As he trailed butterflies kisses down her collarbone she realised she'd not only missed it, she'd been craving for his contact.

Her fingers got tangled in his hair, she gently scratched his scalp while his hands moved closed to her lower back.

What were they doing? Was it right? Weren't they making a mistake?

Hermione raised her head up to grant him better access to her skin.

The problem wasn't what they were doing, it was the time they were doing it at. Of course they couldn't deny they had the right to be happy – Fred would have tricked them into acknowledging that – they simply didn't have the heart to chase away the sadness so early. Paradoxical, yes it was. Happy and sad, both at the same time, could these emotions co-exist?

A tear rolled down her cheek. George licked it away. He was tormented as much as the young woman. Tormented and tired of waiting. Why did it have to happen to him? Why did he have to lose one of his dearest persons? And why did it have to keep another important person to him away from his heart? Tormented, sad and angry. Not really the best mood to act as love-birds, was it?

"Could we have done otherwise?" Hermione sighed.

He shook his head. It wouldn't have felt right to do otherwise, even though the situation didn't presently feel right either, at least they'd done their best during the war. They'd not focused on anything but the victory. Now the was wasn't raging any longer. Now they were free to focus on something else, on someone in particular.

Hermione had her face buried in the crook of his neck. Her breathing was calm. She felt at peace in George's arms, at peace and guilty.

He kissed her cheek. All their moves held an intense tenderness contrasting with the violence which had ruled their life for the past months.

"You're going to stay at the Burrow, aren't you?" he murmured, not even trying to hide the worry in his voice.

"I have nowhere else to go," she admitted.

"But you do feel well here, don't you?"

She immediately regretted her words, she didn't mean to make him worry. She pulled away from him to meet his eyes.

"Never doubt I love the Burrow and all its occupants." Her nose brushed against his. "Never doubt my affection for you all."

She wished she was brave enough to add "never doubt I love you".

He slowly leant in. Hesitantly his lips touched hers. She closed her eyes and returned his kiss.

Gentle, tender, their exchange was meant to tell one another the feelings they'd kept buried for such an agonizingly long time still existed.

The kiss grew more passionate as time flew. Some centimetres of her shirt were unbuttoned, however they abruptly stopped when Hermione moaned.

They remained stuck to each other, only a thin gap of air was separating their lips. They didn't dare move, too startled to have finally sufficiently forgotten their pain to follow their desires. Would their behaviour have been considered a betrayal by Fred?

George licked one of Hermione's tears away. She buried her face in his collar. She was definitely too emotional to think clearly albeit there was no doubt to have. Fred would have agreed, he'd have given them his blessing. Actually, they'd already obtained it.

Fred had always been an attentive observer. He probably knew what their link would change into before them.

"I'm exhausted," George whispered. "And tired to be lacking so much strength."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

"What should we do?"

She sighed. Her breath on his skin made him shiver.

"What about going back to somewhere warmer?" she suggested a small smile stretching up her lips.

"The living room?"

"Rather the kitchen, I'm hungry," she sheepishly admitted.

He pecked her cheek. "Let's go."

They got up together.

There was still a long way to go before they could accept to let the pain fade away for the long term. Paradoxically, though they wished to stop suffering it was still too early for that to happen. They'd always miss Fred, but would eventually grow to accept what their life had become.

As they walked hand-in-hand back to the Burrow, they were certain Fred was gently laughing at their tortoise pace – both about the real steps they were taking and concerning their relationship. They didn't care. They needed to take their time so they'd take it. To rush things would lead them nowhere.

Step by step, they'd learn to live with his absence, with their fears, scars and nightmares.

Step by step, they'd grow up to be people he'd be proud of.

Step by step, they'd go on together.

**The End**


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